


Secrets

by draculard



Series: Facade [2]
Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Grooming, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Offscreen rape, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28376700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: It takes a while for Mr. Campbell to earn Davey's trust, but once he does, there's no secret Davey wouldn't keep on his behalf.
Relationships: David/Cameron Campbell
Series: Facade [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078307
Kudos: 19





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece/prequel to Facade, where Gwen and Max find out what Mr. Campbell did to David. You don't have to read Facade to understand this fic. (If you have read Facade, this was meant to be chapter three, but I realized it was turning into a full-length oneshot, and I didn't want to randomly jump back to the past for an entire chapter!).
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr, I'm draculard there too

Their first secret — the smallest one, the stepping stone that led him from the shallows into the deepest part of the ocean — came in the form of a locked cabinet. It stood in the middle of the camp lodge, where the campers met three times a day for meals. Behind its glass doors, David could see row after row of faded books, some paperback and some hardcover, all offering guidance on things he’d never admit he wanted to know: local ferns and wildflowers, North American moths, edible fungi, knot-tying and star-gazing and amateur meteorology. 

Campers weren’t allowed to touch the books; he wasn’t even sure _counselors_ were allowed to. They were for display, not public use — put there to impress visiting parents and hint at some sort of camp heritage, as if it hadn’t been founded just a year or two before. But every chance David got — when none of the other campers were around — he snuck up to the lodge and leaned close to the glass, imagining what lay behind each title.

It was Mr. Campbell who unlocked it for him. He dangled the key on one finger and swung the cabinet door open without saying a word; at first, David took three giant steps back, thinking he’d been caught snooping and was about to get scolded — and then thinking Mr. Campbell was here to collect one of the books for himself, and might not want David hanging around.

But Mr. Campbell didn’t grab a book; he stepped away and made a sweeping gesture toward the cabinet, watching David with raised eyebrows and a crooked grin. When David just stared at him, Mr. Campbell held one finger to his lips and gave him a wink.

 _Our little secret,_ he seemed to say. 

David selected a book quickly, not daring to take his time and pore over the titles the way he wanted to. He glanced at the cover only briefly before tucking it under his arm and scurrying away, not even bothering with a thank you. 

It was a book called _Understanding Forests._ Late at night, when Jasper was sleeping, David sneaked out of their tent and brought the book with him into the woods; he found a spot they all went to earlier that week on a hike, a spot where the moon peeked through the canopy of leaves and he could just make out the print on the off-white pages before him. 

From this book — from Mr. Campbell — David learned that for a forest to be healthy, sometimes it needs to burn.

* * *

The second secret hooked right onto the first, designed to drag David deeper underwater. He brought the book back in a lull between activities, when the counselors were on break; he entered the lodge the same way an altar boy might tiptoe into a church, careful and quiet, but out of caution, not out of respect. 

He saw Mr. Campbell in the lobby, his back turned to the door as he worked on some project David couldn’t see right away; quietly, hoping to get in and out without being noticed, David tiptoed to the glass cabinet, and he’d just closed his fingers around the handle when he heard a hiss of pain and a muttered curse.

“ _Shit_ ,” Mr. Campbell said. He turned around with a cloth pressed over his hand, a spot of red blood already seeping through; behind him, David could see a half-finished woodworking project on the workbench, the tools abandoned now. 

There was no time for David to hide, so he stood his ground, his back straight and his best indifferent expression pasted on his face. He did his best not to show that he felt like he’d been caught in a criminal act, just by returning the book. Mr. Campbell spotted him at once, but to David’s amazement (and slightly cynical suspicion), he only smiled.

“Davey,” he said warmly.

David didn’t respond. His eyes darted to the spot of blood on Mr. Campbell’s hand, then to the workbench, trying to make heads or tails out of the half-finished project there.

“Let’s not mention this to anyone, eh?” Mr. Campbell said. He gestured to his injured hand first, then to the workbench, and then gave a vague shrug, as if including his careless use of a swear word in the list of things not to mention.

“Okay,” said David, his voice guarded. Inside, his mind ticked uselessly, refusing to move on from the smile Mr. Campbell had given him, the warmth of his voice when he greeted him, the conspiratorial tone when he asked David to help him keep a secret. It didn’t matter what the secret was, really — David couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at him like that, like they were friends. Other kids didn’t like him; adults could barely tolerate him. His own parents didn’t smile at him or say his name like that. 

“Did you like the book?” Mr. Campbell asked.

“It was okay,” David said. He put it back on the shelf slowly, half-expecting Mr. Campbell to suddenly change his mind and get angry with him for reading it. The other half of him expected a pop quiz, for Mr. Campbell to hit him with a barrage of detailed questions about what he’d read.

But Mr. Campbell did neither. Turning away, he said, “Take another one if you want.”

David stared at his back, said nothing, waited for Mr. Campbell to face him again. But Mr. Campbell didn’t, and eventually — with a sense of disappointment he couldn’t quite explain, because if there was one thing he’d learned over the years, it was that you never wanted an adult’s attention — he studied the spines of the books before him.

This time, David allowed himself to believe he wouldn’t get in trouble. He took his time selecting a book, glanced twice at Mr. Campbell, wondered constantly how long he could keep looking before he’d get thrown out.

But Mr. Campbell didn’t look his way again, and David walked away feeling something unfamiliar: a desire not to antagonize, but to win attention, approval. 

To make Mr. Campbell like him at all costs.

* * *

The third secret was a candy bar that Mr. Campbell slipped into his hand while the other campers were hiking ahead of them through the woods. It was just David and Mr. Campbell at the back of the line; he felt the candy bar brush against his palm before he glanced down and saw it, and then his head shot up and he looked questioningly — but silently, as if some instinct told him not to say a word — at Mr. Campbell.

Mr. Campbell handed him the candy bar, winked at him, held a finger to his lips with a smile. The other campers didn’t get any candy that night, David noticed — and just like Mr. Campbell had asked him, David didn’t say a word. 

The secrets added up quickly after that. It was like he’d passed a test, and now the secrets were bigger.

“We’d both get in serious trouble if you told anyone, Davey,” Mr. Campbell warned him. David’s eyes shifted from Mr. Campbell’s face, earnest and friendly, to the can of beer in his hand. He took it without protest. His only response was a solemn,

“I understand.”

The next few times Mr. Campbell drank with him — waking David up from his tent, sneaking him into the lodge — he didn’t bother with the warning. He trusted David, a fact that filled David with an unfamiliar warm glow. They sat in the lodge together, side by side on Mr. Campbell’s bed with their backs against the wall and their thighs just barely touching. Mr. Campbell held a portable TV in his lap — the neatest thing David had ever seen — and let him watch whatever he wanted, no matter what it was rated. 

Secretly, he didn’t like the taste of beer — but he raced to finish his as fast as Mr. Campbell finished his, swallowing every grimace and pretending to smile when Mr. Campbell asked him how it was.

He barely noticed the buzz settling in.

He barely noticed Mr. Campbell’s hand on his thigh.

* * *

By the time he left camp for the last time as a child, David had a thousand secrets he was keeping on Mr. Campbell’s behalf. But when he came back — drawn as if by magnetism, thinking less of the bruises and discomfort and more of Mr. Campbell’s approving smile — he found Mr. Campbell waiting for him and let himself think for just a moment that things might be different.

Until his fellow counselor, Gwen, turned away and Mr. Campbell caught David’s eye, his expression changing, a quick and knowing smile sliding across his face. 

_Later,_ he mouthed.

And David knew the secrets were only going to keep piling up.


End file.
